For all your talk of no happy endings
by DrowinginRedInk
Summary: Four Baudelaires set sail one fateful morning, but only one landed back on Briny Beach. It's up to them to decide what to do next. One-shot collection. Story 1: Klaus and Lemony. Story 2: Violet and Ellington Feint
1. Klaus

It was a long shot, a gut instinct, but Lemony Snicket knew that the key to successful journalistic endeavors was taking every chance he got. He'd struck up conversations with dozens of seemingly inconspicuous taxi drivers, dry-cleaning workers, bank robbers, sous chefs, and snakes, and they had been some of his strongest leads in the Baudelaire case. Even with the trail completely dry, the Baudelaires nowhere to be found, and not a single scrap of evidence pointing him in their direction, he remained devoted. That was why, even knowing that the Baudelaires would almost surely be anywhere else, he ventured to Briny Beach that cold, empty morning, two years after the Baudelaires had first received bad news on its shores.

The day was overcast, as most days were when the smoke of a thousand disparate fires still hung in the air. Lemony kept his hat down and briefcase close as he entered the beach. He relaxed slightly when he caught sight of a figure he'd only ever seen in photographs, excluding one brief meeting. For the first time in countless years, Lemony would have dared to call himself lucky. He'd followed a mere whim and in return he'd found Klaus Baudelaire standing before him, holding a smooth, flat stone and staring out into the ocean.

Lemony did not intend to startle Klaus, but he was not accustomed to social interactions. His organization as a whole was inept at any communication that was not coded or confidential, and he was no exception. With all the confidence a man who had spent two years tracking children could muster, which in the end was a surprising amount, Lemony began his greeting, addressing the boy despite his focus on the waves. "Klaus Baudelaire. I'm glad to finally be making your acquaintance. My name is Lemony Snicket. I believe you met-"

"Your siblings," Klaus finished. His head snapped up as he spoke, but when their eyes met, Lemony did not find the curiosity he'd anticipated from a boy whose research capabilities were praised by every source he'd interviewed. "Mr. Snicket, I apologize, but I need to go. I have an appointment across town." Klaus' voice quivered by the end of the statement. It was clear to Lemony that despite the number of lies Klaus Baudelaire had been forced to tell in his short lifetime, he still had not learned to hide them. Still, Klaus' body held the conviction lacking in his voice. He was planted on the shore, his fist firmly clenching the rock. He seemed paralyzed, although by what, Lemony did not know.

Lemony fought to keep his voice gentle, not like the cold, calculated journalist so many people thought him to be. "Klaus, I would appreciate it if you refrained from telling me anything aside from the truth. I'm aware that a conversation with a stranger can often be as unpleasant as finding a tack in your root beer float, but I assure you, I mean no harm."

"Mr. Snicket, I'm afraid that now is not a good time for us to meet." Klaus' voice still shook, and his eyes remained fixed upon the waves. It was only then that Lemony caught the way he squinted his eyes to keep back tears.

"Klaus, I know that today is the anniversary of your parents' deaths. Still, I believe I can be of some comfort. You see, I was an associate of your parents-"

"I'm aware of that, Lemony," Klaus bit out. "Indeed, if you'll forgive me for contradicting you, your books make it quite clear that you and my mother were far more than associates. You of all people should have expected me to have read that. You go on and on about how I'm a such a great researcher, after all." His hands twitched by his sides as the resentment in his voice reached its peak. "I shouldn't be surprised at your hyperbole, though. You sell them as children's books. As if any child would want to imagine all that. As if we weren't already far too young."

Lemony found himself stuttering, reminded of why he'd always shied away from personal conversations in favor of inquiries and interviews. "I had no idea you were aware of my investigations-"

"Did it never occur to you to notify me?" Klaus asked. "I'd think it would be common courtesy to refrain from publishing without my consent. Besides, even if you weren't planning on informing me, I'd imagine you would have thought of using your research to clear my name, so that in three years I'll be able to access my fortune without being arrested, instead of merely publishing it for profit." The beginnings of grief that had manifested on Klaus' face were now gone, replaced by spitting hatred directed at Lemony. "For that matter, since it's already public, the least you could do is provide me with some of the royalties. I can't imagine you've thought about how difficult it is to survive as a fifteen-year-old fugitive with no formal education."

At this, Lemony paused. He couldn't dare to tell such an enraged teenager the truth: it had been his way of protecting them, or at least believing he was. In the beginning, he'd sought to actively track the Baudelaires, in the hopes of catching up to them. Quickly, he'd realized just how far behind them he was, but still, he'd held onto the hope. He'd longed to be greeted by Beatrice's curious eyes, staring out from within three faces he'd memorized from photographs. Instead, he was met with resentment. With all the injustice the Baudelaire orphans had faced, he'd assumed a record would be appreciated. Upon discovering that was not the case, he could barely speak. "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I assumed I'd have your consent."

Klaus spoke again. His voice had become quiet, though it was just as heavy with bitterness. "Mr. Snicket, how would you feel if someone published a novel about Kit and Jacques?" Despite the direct address, Klaus remained fixated on the ocean, never turning towards Lemony.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

Klaus inhaled, and even knowing the gravity of the exchange, Lemony could not help but feel a little giddy at seeing one of the middle Baudelaire's famous speeches. "I can't imagine you enjoy being reminded of Jacques, and Kit, seeing what happened to them. Both their deaths were rather sudden, after all. You couldn't have been prepared, and then they happened within a very short timeframe. Keeping all that in mind, I'd think that if you read an entire novel praising their character, their resourcefulness, their kindness, how much they cared for their siblings-"

Klaus stopped and swallowed. Finally, he turned completely towards Lemony. "I'm sorry, Mr. Snicket. This is all very unprofessional of me. If you'll excuse me-"

"Klaus," Lemony called, resisting the urge to grab his arm. He was no longer able to hide the desperation in his voice as he finally realized what Klaus had not said. "I was forced to stop my research after the point where you, your sisters, and my niece left the island. I do not know what happened afterward."

"For all your talk of no happy endings-" Klaus bit out, but by the end of the statement his voice began to crack. He dropped the stone he'd clutched so tightly onto the sand. "Mr. Snicket, they died. We crashed."

Instinctively, Lemony offered his quick apologies for the loss, but Klaus continued as if he hadn't said a word. "I got lucky and managed to stay on what was left of the boat. They didn't. The waves carried me away before I could try and pull them out, and I watched them drown."

Lemony kept his head down and attempted to keep composure as his head suddenly began to reel. Years spent tracking and researching, making sure they were all right, and what had it come to? They were gone the second he stopped tracking them, believing that they had been so lucky throughout his thirteen accounts that surely they would be safe and well in one place or another. Instead, if he had only continued to investigate, he would have found them to be gone. There would be no more seeing Beatrice in Violet's eyes or the way Sunny smiled. The resemblance was so clear that when he'd first stumbled across the photographs of the siblings, it had been enough to send both he and his typewriter into a secluded attic for a few days with a bottle of brandy, weeping over their similarity to a woman who'd been reduced to ashes. It was not long until the hope of seeing Violet Baudelaire, who had grown into the spitting image of her mother, was enough to fuel days of investigation on his part. Now, that spitting image was resting at the bottom of the see, along with a young girl whose degree of intelligence and culinary knowledge was far beyond her few years and the only child of Lemony's dearly departed sister. After spending so many years forcibly estranged, learning Kit had been expecting had been yet another beam of hope, even after he'd discovered that she was long gone. Now that, like so many other things, had been stolen from him.

He kept his voice steady, despite the inner turmoil. "I'm very sorry, Klaus. I would not have published the investigation if I had known."

Klaus nodded coldly, but entertained Lemony no further. "Now, Mr. Snicket, as I said, I really must be going."

Lemony watched Klaus go without comment. This time, the lie was nearly flawless. He made a note to track down Klaus eventually to give him the royalties he rightfully demanded, but for the moment, he stayed put and allowed the orphan a moment of peace. He could get his address from the trolley driver later. For the moment, Lemony picked up the stone Klaus had held so carefully, the perfect size and shape for skipping, and looked out onto the waves. To think that all that time, the remains of Violet and Sunny Baudelaire had been buried under the same sea where it all began. No matter how often he'd said otherwise, it seemed that both he and Klaus had expected a happy ending.


	2. Violet

Violet Baudelaire had never been particularly social. She had a knack for communicating with strangers, but she had only ever been truly comfortable with her family. Even then, she had held her secrets, and she kept them close for years, until all her family was dead and there was no one to hide them from. There were some things she'd known even Klaus could never understand. She'd seen the way he'd looked at Fiona, all those months ago, and it was clear. Even though both siblings had led unusual lives, at his core, Klaus was normal. He didn't know what it was like to be different, not like Violet did.

Back then, that secret had mattered immensely; now, she'd share any secret to have him back. It had been four months since she'd completely lost the other Baudelaires, and she'd spent most of that time avoiding public places. There was, of course, the fear of being caught and convicted for everything she'd been accused of, but mostly it stemmed from a desire to simply stop talking. What was the point of it, when Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice had sunk to the bottom of the ocean, and her parents were reduced to ash two long years before?

She only left her apartment (barely even a closet, but worth it for $500 cash a month, no questions asked) to procure work fixing various things. All her clients were working underground, of course-nobody tried to be social when they had things to hide, and none of them paid any heed to the Daily Punctilio. Often, she was not even sure what she was repairing, but gears and electronics were predictable enough to piece together based off conjecture and context. It was better than knowing whatever horrors she'd helped perpetuate.

Aside from work and trips to the library, she only left her apartment on a monthly pilgrimage. The third of every month, she ventured to Briny Beach, where she'd found herself stranded right after the wreck. It seemed necessary to remind herself what she'd once had and how she'd once lived. Looking out into the waves, she could almost see Klaus and Sunny, reminding her to continue to survive, since they could not. Now that so long had passed, she'd began to wonder if it was even worth it. What was the point, when sooner or later some villain would find and kill her, anyhow, and VFD was nowhere in sight?

Violet had grown used to the beach's perpetual emptiness. In the summer, it was a bustling hub of tourists—when that season finally came, she'd no doubt have to save her ritual for rainy days—but it was the beginning of February, and it seemed the world was nothing but biting cold. Out of all months, this was the one this where her mourning was least likely to be interrupted by a stranger. Yet she heard a voice calling behind her.

"Violet Baudelaire." Immediately, Violet tensed at the prospect of speech. Turning to face the sound, Violet was presented with a woman whose hair was so black it made even the elevator shaft of 667 Dark Avenue seem merely grey. Her fingernails were black too, as was her lipstick, her pants, and the coat she wore buttoned up to her chin. The only glimpse of color was her eyes, a slight glimmer of green, and even then, they were overshadowed by her eyebrows, two perfect question marks. Her face was worn enough to suggest that she far from young, or perhaps that she had been through more tribulations in her years than most experience in a lifetime. The woman smiled at Violet, but she could not call it a kind smile, nor a wicked one. It was unfathomable, as if it could hold a thousand secrets without revealing a single one. A smile like that, Violet knew, could mean anything.

It was not polite to start a discussion by asking a woman what her smile meant, however mysterious she was. Still, it was also unacceptable to somehow address a complete stranger by name, and yet somehow this woman had known hers. If only out of a desire to keep the conversation brief, Violet went with the most obvious opener. "Do I know you?"

"That's the wrong question." The woman's eyebrows pressed downward, but even still, they retained their distinct inquisitive curve.

Violet was not sure how to respond to such a cryptic answer. After a moment's pause, soundless except for the echo of lapping waves, she tried again. "Who are you?"

"My name is Ellington Feint." The woman's smile widened, but still gave no clue into its meaning. "As for your previous question, unfortunately, we've never met. I've heard quite a lot about you, however, from an associate of mine."

"Who is your associate?" Violet asked reflexively, her inventing brain already grappling with her demeanor and appearance in an attempt to categorize the woman. She had never heard of any Feints, volunteer or villain. She couldn't risk the chance that the associate would be malicious.

"As much as I'd like to answer, I believe I must request you play by my rules. To make negotiations easier, we each get only one question at a time." It was an idiosyncratic request, but one that revealed very little. Both sides of the schism had their quirks, Violet and her visits to the beach included, and this particular preference was unfamiliar. She would have to follow it to have any prayer of figuring Ellington out, so she nodded, but felt uneasy nonetheless.

"As for my question," Ellington continued, "if I'm not mistaken, I've seen you before. I have the regrettable habit of going out to the theater, even when the shows are new and unproven and the actors seem unsavory. If I recall correctly, I saw you in a rather eventful play about a marriage. Am I correct?"

"You are." Violet found herself looking down at the sand. It was not a day she enjoyed remembering. She was used to danger, but that day was her introduction to a new form. Count Olaf's stares had been impossible to forget.

"The lead actor had a tattoo of an eye," Ellington stated.

"Is that another question?"

"Only if you want it to be." Ellington stared straight at Violet. The sentiment in her eyes was as unfathomable as that of her smile. Violet could only guess at whether she should answer or take her turn.

"Then I want it to be my turn. Your associate?"

"A man who I don't believe you've met. His name is Snicket."

"Snicket is dead." It was an obvious contradiction, of course, but Violet could not find a better way to express it. She realized too late that it could be read as a question, but Ellington did not take the opportunity.

Ellington spoke sharply. Her words and her tone both supplied just enough detail to communicate clearly and no more. Her voice didn't carry emotion, only social cues. "His brother is dead, but this Snicket is alive. My associate is Lemony."

"I didn't know Jacques had a brother." Violet's eyes now gravitated to the waves. She couldn't quite manage to look at Ellington anymore, not when making eye contact felt like admitting she'd been wrong.

"From what he's told me, he has tried to make it so as few people are aware of him as possible." Her eyebrows crept upward, two perfect curves, interrogating her with their very shape. "Now would you care to tell me who that actor was?"

"His name was Count Olaf."

Ellington raised a single curving eyebrow, and her black lips pressed together tightly before she spoke. "I was referring to his alignment." It was another question, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she asked a question of her own.

"Alignment?"

Ellington batted her eyes, although whether out of confusion, an attempt at kindness, or exasperation, Violet could not tell. "My associate has a similar tattoo. People with them tend to speak in terms of volunteers and villains."

"He was a villain." The idea that anyone was unfamiliar enough with the man's atrocities to question his morala came as a strange sort of shock, the kind that left Violet's chest hollow and legs shaking.

"Lemony would have assumed, but I know better than to be so sure." At this, Ellington's grin returned. "Do you have another question?"

She doubted Violet. Now she knew Ellington was a threat. "How do you know Lemony? Is it through VFD?"

"I believe that's two." Ellington's smile only widened.

"Fine." Violet inhaled sharply. "Are you a part of VFD?"

"I am not. Lemony tried to persuade me, long before you were born. I knew better. The world is not as neatly black and white as they'd like you to believe. But VFD has always been a bit… traditional." Ellington stared straight into Violet's eyes and lingered on the last word. Then, so quietly that it seemed she hadn't meant to say it at all, Ellington added, "you don't strike me as someone traditional."

Ellington seemed to be implying something, but Violet knew better. She couldn't be. No one knew, not even Klaus. And besides, Violet had always been careful of staring at women too long, or acting too disinterested in men. There was no way Ellington could have noticed. It would be better to just move on from the whole issue, and hope Ellington would follow suit. "Do you have a question?"

Ellington kept Violet fixed in her glance, and Violet worried that her emotions had been written on her face. But Ellington didn't ask about it. Instead, she said, "I have a statement. It could be a question, if you prefer."

"I don't."

"I saw how that Olaf looked at you, Violet. Lemony would consider that the mark of a villain. Still, there is a reason I was hoping to seek you out first. He may not notice it, but though Lemony considers himself a volunteer, he wears the same look when he speaks of you." Ellington reached over and took Violet's hand. It was an odd gesture of sympathy, but that was all it was. It couldn't be a threat, and it certainly couldn't be any kind of invitation.

Despite its innocuousness, Violet found her voice faltering. "What are you implying, Ms. Feint?"

Ellington's questioning eyebrows drew close together. "The world is not as simple as VFD portrays it, Violet. It is full of greedy, hurtful men, regardless of whether they think of themselves as volunteers or firestarters. We need to do whatever it takes to protect ourselves, and those we love."

Now nearly whispering, Violet asked, "Who do you love?"

Ellington's eyes fell to the sand below her feet. "I loved my father. I protected him until he died of old age, a fate uncommon on either side of the schism. Even still, when he passed, I found myself completely lost, totally aimless." She lifted her gaze to meet Violet's. "You must know the feeling."

"I do," Violet said, and found herself repeating, "I know it very well."

Ellington stepped towards her, softly smiling. "I've been lonely for quite a while, Violet. I was hoping you could remedy that." Her eyes glimmered, and she reached for Violet's other hand.

Ellington had moved so close that the sound of her breathing was no longer masked by the waves. Violet's hand was still within hers, and it seemed that Ellington's grip had only become more tender. That smile no longer seemed so unfathomable; not when all the other signals were so clear. Ellington knew; not only did she know, Violet was no longer angry about it.

But Violet knew better than to get warm with a stranger. Instead, she forced herself to speak sharply and push Ellington's arm away. "What are you suggesting?"

"I've been told you were the eldest of your siblings. It was your job to protect them. The reason you failed and found yourself in the midst of a series of unfortunate events was, on the whole, because of certain men's lust and everything it would motivate them to do." Ellington reached out and put a hand on Violet's face, softly stroking her cheek. "In this world, you cannot avoid others' romantic attraction. You can only search for those that are less dangerous. Those who will be able at willing to protect you. Those that you may find more pleasing." She leaned into her final word.

"I'm sixteen. I'm a child," Violet pleaded, but her words were already weak.

"Don't think of it like that."

"How else can I possibly think of it?" Violet asked, but despite the protesting words, she found herself reaching for Ellington's hand.

"As a partnership, of sorts. A way to avoid their rigid structure of wicked and noble, volunteer and villain. Man and woman." Violets face shifts. "They pretend that they're better on that front, more accepting than they are. But by now, you've learned that they're not as noble as they act, either."

Violet tried to shield herself with words, but her question came out close to begging: "What do you want from me?"

"You will move into my apartment. I am working on plenty of projects of my own, Violet, and I could use an inventor's help, as well as her companionship. I've been told you're quite the conversationalist. I will require your nights to find out." Violet felt a hand slink behind her back, and goosebumps rose across it in response.

She tries to keep her voice steady, to mask any hint of attraction. "What do I get in return?"

"VFD is aware of me. They've learned that I will not abide by their rules and divisions. As long as you are associated with me, they'll leave you alone." Ellington's voice remained flat. It seemed that to her, they posed no threat at all. "And from what I've surmised, you may gain some enjoyment from it as well." Those questioning eyebrows had raised on Ellington's final statement and her smile had returned, the smile that could mean anything.

All Violet truly noticed, however, was how closely they were standing, and how hot the air between them seemed. Then before she knew it, Ellington's soft lips were on top of hers. Even though Ellington was far older than Violet, she kissed voraciously, with a fury Violet had only seen in the lions at Caligari Carnival, the ferocity supposedly reserved for teenagers like her. The speed and intensity frightened Violet and set anxiety building in her throat—and yet the passion itself was nearly intoxicating. Ellington's hands moved up to Violet's breasts and her tongue pushed between her lips, and still, Violet did not resist. Perhaps it was wrong to let an adult show such affection to her, but no danger Violet had suffered was so pleasant. If submitting to such hungry lips and sensual hands was the price of safety, it was one she'd eagerly pay.

After a moment, Ellington pulled away, once again perfectly composed, but Violet was still leaning forward, black lipstick smeared across her face. Ellington waited a moment, then raised her curving eyebrows. The question was clear.

"Give me your phone number," Violet answered, "and I'll think about it." She kept her voice firm and unfathomable to maintain some illusion of power, but it was a lie. Without her siblings, Violet had been lost and aimless. If any villain had pounced on her, she would have been easily overtaken. Now, staring into Ellington's eyes, Violet knew she had finally been captured, but not by a villain; by her own desires.

 ** _So it was interesting to write this one just because it's so far out of the realm of what I might imagine the post-ASOUE world to be like. My personal headcanon is 100% Quigley x Violet, so writing her as a lesbian feels a little weird, although I quickly found my stride and suddenly it seemed more than possible. I honestly have no idea what Ellington would be doing, either sexuality-wise or in relation to VFD, but it was fun to play with her grey-ness in a predatory way. Once again, I don't think it's the truth, but it's fun to explore, and that's really what fanfiction is for._**

 ** _Also, thank you for bearing with the fact that my asexual self had no idea how to write a scene with as much sexual tension as this._**


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